


Time of our Lives

by RogueNin



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:20:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22977544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueNin/pseuds/RogueNin
Summary: Hayate and Calen, twins and hunted for centuries. Celeste, an unhappy princess looking for a way out. Their fates intertwine and they change each other for the better. Hayate's pirate habits and morals clash with Calen's indoctrinated views and robot-like personality. Celeste manages to pull them back together and reforged their relationship, with patience and love in abundance.





	1. Chapter 1

Hayate was sat upright. His hand laid still on his ankle, covering the handles of several slim knives.

The air was still, however he was sure he’d heard something just minutes before jolting awake from a light slumber. His long ears, optimised for picking up sounds from long distances, would not betray him, he knew that. 

None of his senses would, as drilled as they were. For years, centuries even, Hayate realised, he’d honed them so that if he were to lose one, the others were more than ready to fill the hole perfectly. 

His fingers, scarred but trained in not just nocking and firing arrows; but also familiar with a broad variety of textures, fabrics and plants.  
His eyes, very much able to see into a far distance, recognised not just faces, expressions and true feelings; but also regional and cultural products.  
His tongue, skilled at crumbling even the most stubborn of people, and not just by talking, mind you; also knew how to recognise poisons, spices, and could even place a species with an unknown owner of spilled blood.  
His nose, able in recognizing even the most vulgar or stenches; was also a valuable tool in tracking down a target standing upwind.  
And of course, his ears, long and pierced, yet utterly sensitive to sounds, proved of value in about every activity imaginable. They warned him in moments such as this very one, ‘Quickly! Wake up, there’s danger ahead!’. 

Hayate stayed still for a long while, until he was absolutely certain the danger had passed.  
And he cursed, his one free hand now running up his sweaty features as a way of calming down his increased heart rate. 

“D’you kiss yer mother with that mouth?”

The voice came suddenly, unexpectedly close. He jolted up, a slim throwing knife freshly retrieved from its holster, ready to be sent flying at the unknown person outside the cave he’d been resting in.  
He could hear footsteps; light, swift, yet confident ones. 

Her head appeared before the rest of her body. Light brown locks followed gracefully as she stepped into the opening of the cave, and Hayate had to hold up a hand to block out the sunlight from behind her. 

Her hair was half-up, half-down he now noticed. It hung down, just below her collarbones. Her clothes were ragged, yet easily recognisable as the leather battle outfit belonging to the Wood Elves of the Dire Woods. They were stained, he saw, covered in old blood, both black and red; mud streaks messed up the once beautiful cream and beige colours. Rips, cuts, holes and tears disturbed the intricate stitching and embroidery.  
It didn’t look like it had been washed recently either.

His heart dropped at seeing the specially added embroidery on the girl’s chest and leather gauntlets. He’d recognize it anywhere.  
She wasn’t your usual footsoldier or bowman; she bore the royal family’s crest, as well as the bright red stitching that revealed her rank. A royal and a General, huh? 

He swallowed hard. 

“What? Been that long you don’t even recognise your own blood?” she spoke in a voice he knew had gotten used to barking orders and being obeyed.  
Her comment threw him off guard, though. Family? How should he know, he hadn’t been back there in centuries. He didn’t think any family members even thought he was still alive.  
Or well, he’d rather hoped so. 

“Got the wrong man, lass,” he got to his feet as he spoke. He couldn’t linger here if his position had been compromised. He’d come too far, accomplished too many of his dreams, to be thrown back in his old, miserable life in the Woods. 

He heard her click her tongue.  
“Hayate Sodas of the Dire Woods, first in line to the Throne, Prince of the Dire Woods and former crew-member of Captain Thranmar, captain of the Thranmar Pirates,” she spoke loudly, articulating harshly, in a voice that showed she was very confident in her words, “that’s you, right?”

He frowned hard, his back turned to her as he packed up his pack and threw it over his shoulder. 

“Don’t know what yer’on about,” he replied as he slipped the throwing knife back in its holster on his ankle. 

His heart beat in his very throat. It had been a long time since anyone had referred to him as such. He put effort into keeping his identity a secret, and he was proud to admit he did a very good job at it too. He left no loose ends should details be exposed.  
Then why had he now?  
When did he mess up?

“Y’haven’t changed, you know? Still got that same ugly mug,” she sneered.

He stayed quiet. She- She was implying she’d known him for longer than he dared think of. 

“Ah, come on. D’you really not recognise me? I get it’s been centuries, but come on, Te, don’t tell me your memory has gone that sour?” 

He clenched his jaw at the nickname he hadn’t had the pleasure of hearing in a long while. 

He turned around and looked at her face.

She wore a leather, messy eyepatch hiding her right eye behind it. However, a horrific scar was simply too long for it to be hidden as well. It was rippled, textured, like it hadn’t healed properly. Like she had suffered long and much, probably unnecessarily so considering her status. 

Her lips were thin, like his; her eyebrows just as thick as his own, he knew. His hair was lighter, but he knew this was due to him being exposed to sunlight for the majority of his waking hours. Same story for their skin-tones, he knew she was paler, but only because his skin was tanned and scarred due to overexposure to sunlight. 

Her shoulders were broad and muscled, much like her arms and legs; like you’d expect from an army General. It was apparent she earned her rank not due to family status, but due to harsh and long hours of training. 

And she was tall too, much taller than he was, he noticed. Not that that was an uncommon thing, he thought bitterly. At almost one-sixty metres, he wasn’t the most intimidating man to look at at first glance. Of course, his skills and foul mouth took care of that almost immediately, but that didn’t make him less envious of the tall. 

Her good eye caught his attention most of all, though. It stood alert, revealed intelligence and showed how composed yet direct she was. It was dark grey, almost black but not quite so, 

much like his own, he realised. 

She shifted her weight onto her one leg and looked around with an annoyed sigh. 

And it clicked with him. 

“Calen?” he asked, a hint of hopefulness and disbelief in his voice.

She turned her head back to him, a smirk now pulling the corners of her mouth up. He knew it resembled his own.  
“Been a while, brother.”  
  



	2. Chapter 2

He blinked hard. 

She’d changed. Very much so. 

The last time he’d seen her, she’d have been much more of a-   
well, a woman, really.   
She’d have had a taken care of look, not the ragged one she presented now. 

She’d been much skinnier, much less intimidating to look at. She even looked taller now.   
Her hair was always intricately braided, a proud example of their mother’s skilled hands. It always shined in the lights around her, her face had been round, unscarred; fair.   
She had always looked like the princess she was. 

Her dresses had been long, form-fitting, graceful, clean. A subtle crown, created from thin, braided silver had always rested on her ears, wrapped around her forehead and temples, to be intertwined with her hair on the back of her head. 

The person that stood before him was anything but the beautiful princess he’d regretted to leave all those years ago, when he ran away from a prepared life to pursue one of freedom and thrill.

“I- I don’t get it-” he stuttered and he blinked over and over. How- Why-  
“What’s there not to get?”

He scratched the back of his head, wondering whether he was just dreaming this. 

“What happened to you?” he asked quietly as he stepped up to her.   
“Same thing that happened to you,” she smirked wider and stuffed her hands in her pockets, “Father.”   
His heart dropped. He should’ve known his escape to a better life, meant the demise of hers. And he should’ve cared, and stayed for that reason. They were twins. Meaning, if one was disposed of, the other could always take their sibling’s place. 

The only reason Hayate was the first in line to the throne, was because he was born a male, and Calen was not. Which is also why he was forced to undergo harsh education as well as intense combat training starting from a very young age. All to ‘create’ the perfect heir, as their father would’ve worded it. 

“Ah, shit- I’m s-,”   
“See you’ve been busy,” she interrupted him, “all marked,” she smirked, running a thumb over his rough, scarred cheek and jaw.   
He clenched his jaws. 

“Ah- That’s old,” he smiled sheepishly.   
It didn’t sit well with him that she ignored his attempt to apologise to her. He remembered Calen as a young, insecure girl who didn’t stand up for herself, and needed protection at all times. She used to be vulnerable, an easy target, soft. She used to be so pure. 

Now she was a seasoned soldier, hardened by both a harsh leader, and many years of life to mold her into what appeared to be a perfect soldier. 

“Don’t remember you havin’ any of ‘em, though,” she said, not looking into his eyes directly as she was taking in his entire figure. His bare hands, covered in scars; his messy short haircut, throwing a fringe over his forehead; dirty, old clothes that were in desperate need of replacement.   
His shirt hung open, putting his sternum on full display, which in turn, revealed a double set of scars that would run under the shirt all the way down over his pectorals. 

She was right, he had been busy. It had been three centuries after all.   
His arms bore more scars than he cared to count, however all had an interesting and thrilling story. He had piercings about everywhere imaginable. Not just the ring hanging from through his septum, but also a multitude of them in his long, pointy ears. A silver bar with tiny balls on either side to keep it in place, had been slammed through his tongue some decades ago, and he had yet to find a reason to regret it. More were scattered around his torso and he even had some ones he had had done through his privates during a drunk night out with his, now former, friends. 

After he ran away from the Dire Woods, hed joined an all Elf pirate crew. And under command of Captain Thranmar, he had served a lifetime filled with excitement, thrill, mischief, and above all; freedom.   
While with the other outlaws, he’d honed his skills in not just using a bow, but he’d also taken quite the liking to throwables, especially throwing knives. His captain was a skilled man in many departments, combat being one of his strongest suits, and he had had no problem with teaching Hayate all about using any weapon he wanted to know more about. 

He’d gotten in more fights and scrambles than he could remember, received more insults, lectures, warnings and threats than he cared about. And he’d loved every second of it. He loved every scar he received, loved every concussion, every near-death experience, every single time he’d felt the adrenaline rush through his veins. 

However, all things came to an end, and so had his time on the ship with the people he’d eventually came to call family.   
He’d been working as a mercenary for some time now. He’d lost count of the precise number of years but, he knew it was somewhere around the low fifties.

“ ‘s what happens when you’re in the business I’m in,” he shrugged and stepped past her, out the dark cave and back into the warm sunlight.   
“And what would that be?” 

He stretched his back lazily. It had only been, what? A few hours since he fell asleep?   
Yet his back was completely tensed up due to the cold rock wall and the unnatural way he’d been lying. He groaned loudly and then sighed as he lowered his arms again. 

“Killing for coin,” he said bluntly. No need for trying to make it sound less crude, there was no way he could anyway, so why try? He turned to face her, his arms crossed behind his head.   
His jaw stayed clenched, though. It was more than shocking- no, more so concerning to see his younger twin here. Was she here to take him back? He wasn’t gonna give her an easy time if that was the case.

“Charming,” she turned to face him. 

He shrugged, he didn’t need her approval. 

“Why are you here, Calen?” he lowered his arms and turned to walk away, downhill, to get to the shade cast by the many thick trees down at the base of the hill they were currently standing on.  
“I got out as well,” she immediately said. He frowned hard.   
“From where?”   
“Where do you think, genius?” she quickly followed him and once she caught up with him she looked at her boots and said:  
“Away from the Woods and away from Father.”

Hayate’s eyebrows shot up high.   
“Since when do Generals get to ‘get out’?” he asked with a small smile around his lips.   
“They don’t.”   
“How come you’re here then?”   
“Why d’you think I look like you? All nasty and disgusting.”

Hayate laughed hard and looked up at her.   
“ ‘cos yer my twin?”  
“ ‘cos I’m being hunted, stupid.”  
“That’s what I said,” a grin would now fully spread over his face. He knew he had a bounty. Of course, he did, back on the ship they’d make it a competition to get the highest number.   
He pulled a piece of paper from an inside pocket in his shirt. 

She would probably have one as well now, their father wasn’t one to let go of things as grave as desertion. And especially not when it concerned his own blood, he knew. The scar running over his nose was a grim reminder of that. 

“ ‘s ‘cos we’re similar in more than just our birthdays,” he held up the wanted poster.   
Calen raised a single brow.   
“That’s old, isn’t it?”  
His face fell in confusion. Sure, it had been a couple of months since he’d snagged it off some bounty board in a town now far behind him, but how would Calen know?

She reached inside her bag and pulled a newer looking poster from one of the many pockets.   
“You’ve increased again,” she said as she pushed the poster in his hands.  
And sure enough, she was right. Where it had said twenty-thousand gold pieces, on Hayate’s poster, on this one it said twenty-five-thousand. 

It brought a wide, teeth-baring grin to his face.  
“Turns out last week’s job paid off,” he sniggered and folded both posters up and stuffed them back in the pocket in his shirt. 

Calen rolled her eyes and continued to make her way down the hill. 

***  
“So, what? You just packed and left?” 

Hayate was sat across from his sister, leaning back into the seat with his one hand tucked through the ear of the mug he’d been given by the waiter. Calen leaned on her elbows on the table they were sharing, she had both her hands wrapped around a mug of her own. 

She stared at the liquid in the mug as it swirled around.   
“If only it went that smoothly,” a soft chuckle left her throat and she shook her head, “No, you know father. He wouldn’t just let anyone leave.”

Hayate snorted.  
“Got that right,” he sighed and then took a long swig from his drink. 

He remembered how their father had been like it was yesterday, however, somewhere deep down, he’d rather hoped the centuries that past had caused him to change his habits. Calen was living proof that he hadn’t, sadly.   
He was a strict, conservative man. A leader who had ruled for many decades, and who was feared for his cruelty. None had dared oppose him due to his aggressive nature, and skill with a sword and the bow. The many executions the Woods were known for, were often handled by their very own leader himself. He didn’t have many people advising him, due to his immense ego and sense of superiority.  
He’d fought many wars, be it his own, or others’, and it made him an incredibly wise and skilled man. Not an easy target, Hayate knew. 

Hence, Calen’s look.   
He almost didn’t want to ask, but he knew he was gonna need to eventually.   
“He give you that?” his voice was gentle and quiet, respectful of possible boundaries he’s not yet allowed to cross. He nodded in her direction, meaning the ugly-looking scar crossing through her hidden eye. 

All she did was nod, and then raised the mug to her mouth. 

“Damn,” he exclaimed, frustrated, as he sat up and leaned on the table. 

“It’s old,” she smirked a small smirk, repeating his words from earlier. 

Hayate clicked his tongue.  
“Doesn’ matter if it’s old, Cale, he took yer damn eye!” 

Calen scoffed and raised a brow at him. She put down the mug and reached for the eyepatch with her one hand.   
Hayate watched as she raised the patch from her eye, and when she opened the damaged eyelids, he clenched his jaws hard. 

He fell back against the backrest again. 

“Must’ve hurt-” he said softly. 

“Understatement,” she laughed. She left the patch up, on her forehead. 

He got up from his seat and made his way to her.   
“Can I see?” 

She turned to face him and look down at his knees once he crouched down to be able to properly see. 

His heart hurt at seeing the extent of the, luckily now healed, injury. The edges were round, bumping up her skin in an unattractive manner. It was ripply, he could slip his finger over it and it would slip over bumps and ledges. 

Her eye was completely milky, a sick, light grey colour marked the area her iris and pupil had been prior to the attack. He could see a line going through the iris, where the blade would’ve sliced through. It was a dark, stark line, obvious to anyone who got close enough to see.   
The scar felt rough, much rougher than his own. Probably to the lack of care it had received. 

“I’m so sorry, Cale-” he said softly as he gently ran his thumb over the very bottom edges of the horrible scar.   
She shrugged. 

“It’s fine, I guess. Like I said, happened a long time ago,” she took a deep breath and turned back to how she had been sitting while her brother got back to his own seat. 

His heart was pounding of anger. He wanted to blame himself, but really, he knew it wasn’t his fault their father was problematic. He was abusive, a poison in their life, and he always had been, even long before they had been born.   
He could deal with the hurt he had caused him, though seeing how badly he had affected his sister, that was a step too far. 

He hoped Calen would find an opportunity to find peace, to live her life in freedom and in a way she wanted. He hoped she’d allow him to make it up to her, and help her with that.


End file.
